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And as they returned home after exploring Europe together as a family, Grey and Sigrid supporting Kaspar as he toured and spread his musis across the world, he couldn't help but recall the first time he and Grey had managed to truly get away.

KASPAR It had taken them three hours to pack, three hours of laughing, disagreeing, packing and unpacking, having to shoo dogs and nursing Will. It was worth it though as Kaspar stood looking at the bags ready to pack into the car, a dozing Will in his arms and Sigrid laying on the couch with Bear draped over her legs. Grey was still bustling about but Kas felt good about this, they were ready for their first road trip as a couple and he was oddly excited. The only thing that was bothering him about it was the thought of leaving his son for two weeks, but he'd hired someone to keep an eye on things and assist Sigrid, which his wife had reluctantly agreed to. Kaspar went to put Will down, it was almost time to leave and he had to do it some time.

GREY WESTON The kitchen was rich with the scent of coffee. It wasn’t the bold, bitter blend that Grey tended to favor; robust and a touch too dark to be considered a proper ‘blonde’ roast. The scent that filled the room was softer, borderline sweet. It carried undertones of hazelnut or toffee. Glass containers were filled with the recently ground blend; fine and dark as grave soil. They were carefully stacked on the counter; tucked against the heavy ceramic containers that held the sugar, complete with a tiny spoon, bone white, that fit snugly in the sanded groove of the lid. Grey’d spent the better part of an hour in the kitchen, filling air-tight glass containers with simple meals. Everything from carefully halved apples to a bowl of mint and arugula salad, pomegranate seeds glittering darkly from between the leaves, catching the light like tiny embers.There was a small cooler on the counter, packed with a handful of sandwiches wrapped in plastic. Thick slices of beef with the faintest pepper crackling, sharing space with spinach leaves and red onion. The barest spread of black pepper aioli graced either side of the asiago bread that served as its halves. He’d left two of these in the fridge; meals to be quickly prepared and eaten. Stoker reclined on the kitchen floor, his gaze fixed on Grey as he drew the lid of the cooler shut with a decisive snap. He’d hardly taken more than a step before the shepherd rose, as if intending to block his path. A low snort escaped him. Setting the cooler aside, he reached down, gathering the dog’s front legs in either hand, gingerly guiding them onto his shoulders. The dog balanced on his hind legs for a moment. His head dipped, pressing a kiss to the shepherd’s snout. “Be good.” He pushed his paws from his shoulders abruptly a second later, gripping the hand of the cooler before making his way out of the kitchen and down the hallway. “Meet you outside!” He called up the stairs.

KASPAR Kaspar hovered over the crib, his wife joining him silently, alerting him to her presence with the gentle press of his palms to his sides. "Go, my love, not much will change in two weeks. You'll be back long before his birthday, you've already made plans and the business's are being taken of... Let go,Kaspar, you are amazing and you have got it all organised." She was right, he knew that but it was difficult for him to loosen the reigns and take time off. He dipped forward, pressing gently kisses to his sons forehead and plump cheeks. "Almost a one year old, is that not crazy?" He straightened to turn to Sigrid, the pair exchanging their farewells before he eventually joined Grey outside. The black jeep was fully packed, Grey had prepared food and also grabbed a few blood bags for Kas just in case. They were ready to leave, weren't they? "Are you sure you don't want to bring Stoker?" His hands pressed to Grey's shoulders, leaning around to kiss the side of the man's jaw. "Come on... We better get moving, long drive to the first stop."

GREY WESTON “Depends. You want to sleep on the floor?” He countered, head tilting slightly in response as Kaspar’s lips found the edge of his jaw. “He’ll be fine.” He didn’t add that leaving him behind would be a strong deterrent in their absence. The canine had a dark timbre to his bark; a violently loud, jagged sound that carried in the spacious house. It had kept the person who delivered the newspaper from venturing much closer than the front gate, more than once. “Are you gonna be okay?” He asked bluntly, head tipping back further. His lips brushed against Kaspar’s throat before he pulled away. He’d made certain to set up the automated ‘out of office’ notice for the both of them. It was more of an attempt to keep the other man from compulsively checking his phone every few hours than out of necessity. That, and he’d been insistent on a real vacation. Away from responsibilities and distractions and the general ******** that had ruled their lives for the past several months. “When you are,” he agreed, moving towards the Jeep and tugging open the passenger side door a second later.

KASPAR Kas grunted gently, his shoulders hitching in a shrug. "Ok? I... Yes, Grey, I am ok. I am excited, I am sorry I have been so tense it is just hard for me to let it all go." He smiled and patted the man's backside as he climbed into the car, Kas moving around to the driver's side and climbing in. "Then let us go, and I get first playlist." Indeed, he did, the first few hours were spent singing along and laughing together before the pair decided it was time for a break, the first on Grey's schedule. Kaspar still couldn't believe he'd allowed Grey to plan the trip, well, mostly. Of course he'd veto'd a few things and pointed out things along the way he might like to see but he let Grey make the final decisions alone to surprise him. The blonde climbed out of the car, giving a full body stretch and shake of his limbs. "So... Am I allowed to call home yet? Text?"

GREY WESTON ‘Tense’ was an understatement. The past few weeks had been strained - a combination of Kaspar’s restless enthusiasm and the peculiar stalemate that had fallen over the city had dictated the mood of the household for nearly a month. It wasn’t unusual for Kaspar to throw himself into things head first. His latest project was no exception. Grey, for the most part, had kept his skepticism to himself - gingerly navigating his mood swings, which had become more frequent the closer they drew to Will’s birthday. He hadn’t been much better - preoccupied with a mixture of work and delayed commissions. He wasn’t entirely convinced that driving to Victoria was the best idea. (A conclusion he’d reached after his mother had sent him ten text messages in a row the evening before, anxiously confirming, for the third time that week alone, the two evenings they’d agreed to stop by.) “You don’t have to apolo-- hey!” He protested with a laugh. The next few hours went by quickly enough; taken up by conversation - or what passed over it, shouted over top of Kaspar’s choice in music. He was grateful to get out of the car a handful of hours later, eyeing the pastel shadows the neon signs of shops along the stripmall cast over the parking lot. “It’s been six hours,” he pointed out, shooting him a flat look. “They’re probably asleep. I mean, if you’re looking to die again, go for it.”

KASPAR Kaspar made an impressively pitiful noise, one designed to try and elicit some sense of pity from the man who had confiscated his phone as per their agreement while he was driving the first leg of the trip, "Have you at least checked if they have contacted us?" He was in a huff, but he knew there was no point pushing it, of course Grey was responsible and cared enough to check in with them. "Sorry..." He grated the word out reluctantly, giving himself a mental shake and trying for a warmer smile. "Ok, so, are we staying here? Stopping off? Snacks? Finding an alley to make out in? What?"

GREY WESTON He almost wavered. Despite claiming immunity to Kaspar’s impressive range of sounds - with a handful of exceptions - he found himself clearing his throat and pointedly glancing away. The fingers of his right hand slid reflexively into his pocket, the tips of them tracing the outer edge of cellphone’s case. The plastic radiated a faint warmth where it had absorbed his body heat, and for a split second he considered surrendering it. He’d confiscated it earlier in the trip; pleading the case for his sanity. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the reason for his anxiousness; he did. It didn’t make it any less grating. “Kaspar.” His name was more of a fond exhale than anything; even so, there was a slight edge to the word. A hushed note of warning. “I. Am going to drop it in the nearest toilet if you keep asking.” The words were teasing enough to soften the threat. “Mmm. We could grab something if you’re up for it. Like your ***.” He arched a brow a second later. “We’ve got a few minutes.”

KASPAR The man give in with a dramatic sigh, throwing his hands up in the air only to let them all back to his hips. The unimpressed look that dominated his sulking posturing wavered at Grey's teasing. It was hard to stay irritated when he was flirting, even if it were followed by a threat to discard of his lifeline into a toilet. "You want to grab my ***? I am not surprised, I think this is an eternal state of being for you, yes? Come on." He tugged his partner towards him, tucking the man against his side with a fond if mildly exasperated kiss to his ruffled dark hair. "Let's just stretch our legs before we keep going, we'll have to make our sleep stop soon."

GREY WESTON "Guilty." The smile that crept onto his face was unguarded; one corner of his mouth slowly curling upwards. It was half-lopsided, caught between cautiously pleased and abruptly self-conscious. "Someone has to check the mileage. I totally have your best interest at heart." He continued, even as he was tugged closer. He settled against his side, one arm lifting to wrap around him solidly. "There's an Esquires across the street," he offered. He considered him for a handful of seconds, offering a brief shake of his head."Though if we stick with your playlist, I'm not sure I can stick with your *** another seven months."

KASPAR Kaspar laughed despite himself, his head shaking. "You are eternally guilty, and i'm glad you've taken it upon yourself to ensure my *** stays wonderful." His eyes rolled at the remarks about his playlist, tongue poking out. "You are a poor liar, I saw yours and we had many of the same songs! Besides, I heard you singing under your breath to a few and you even joined in on some of those 80's anthems! Not to mention you trying really hard not to get into the grunge... You just do not want to admit my taste is flawless, it's not like I put in any of the arias or musical songs so you can not sulk, the only thing you can maybe complain about is the Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls songs on there, but we both know that would be an absolutely shameful thing to do. Who does not love them?" Kaspar strolled along cheerily enough, even as he defended himself, knowing that Grey had been hoping for such a disagreement.

GREY WESTON "In my defense..." He began, the words trailing off into a low huff of laughter. His breath fogged for a split second; forming a ragged shape that seemed to trap the sound for a handful of seconds. Whatever tension had been present slowly bled away. At the very least, the edges of it had softened. "I...yeah. I've got nothing." He attempted to school his features into something approaching shameful, and failed. "It would be tragic if I didn't." He eyed the other man, eyes narrowing in response. He paused, hands reaching upwards to grip him roughly by the front of his shirt, fingers - stiff with the evening's chill - knotting themselves into the fabric. The sudden slack meant that his tug - only meant to be insistent - was borderline violent in the way their frames collided. It didn't stop him from stretching onto his toes, teeth snapping shut with a hollow click inches from his tongue. "Brat." The accusation was low and strangely rough. His breath ghosted over his lips - hinting at a kiss that was ultimately denied. He released him just as quickly, resuming the walk across the parking lot, hip nudging gently against his. "No judgment. I mean, my guilty pleasure is Velvet Goldmine, for christ's sake." His nose wrinkled lightly. "But the Spice Girls? Seriously? No."

KASPAR The way he was grabbed was abrupt, to aggressive in nature to mistaken as anything other than a flash of the desire, the passion that always seemed around the corner when they were in high spirits. His own hands found the man's hips in an impatient grip, tugging them upwards to soften the collision and make them meet on a more even playing field, his knees bending slightly to account for the height difference. It was over all too quickly, the warmth of his breath against Kaspar's lips, the closeness that made his tongue flick between his own to moisten them expectantly and... Gone, relaxed back to his side and walking along like it never happened. Kaspar stared for a few seconds before striding after him, closing the brief distance in two wide steps. "You have many guilty pleasures, but we will not go listing them. They are fun, is it so wrong to enjoy a bit of fun? Besides, I grew up in Europe, Liebchen. We like a bit of trashy and flashy."

GREY WESTON His stride shortened reflexively, slowing as Kaspar recovered and moved to catch up. "Please do," he countered, idly reaching for his hand. "I can't wait to hear this." He gently laced his fingers through Kaspar's own, offering a light, apologetic squeeze. "I'll make it up to you once we get to the hotel." There was a sly note to his words; easily overlooked, eclipsed as it was by the offhanded remark. "You..." He said, abruptly turning to face him. There was a hitch to his stride - a mild stutter in his step that nearly had him tripping over his own feet as his gaze sought Kaspar's in silent challenge. "Hate fun," he continued, walking backwards. "S' why you have to wear your hipster glasses. Going blind. All work, no play..." His tongue clicked against his teeth, the sound brisk in its disapproving tsk. They were drawing closer to the distant coffee shop. Its light cast a rectangle of soft light across the pavement. Grey's heel found the cracked and yellowed parking block that served as a barrier a moment later. He stepped up and onto it with an ease that was almost graceful."I can agree with the first bit." He leapt then, arms wrapping solidly around Kaspar's shoulders in a brief, frantic air; desperate for balance. His legs wound around his waist a heartbeat later. "Hi, handsome."

KASPAR It was easy to fit his hand to Grey’s, so much had become as natural as breathing since their first night together. The way he stumbled to turn and stare at him incredulously had Kas chuckling, wearing a patiently bemused expression. “You think my glasses are remarkably sexy, in fact just thinking about them has you talking about hotels…” He watched the man step up to level their heights, his brow raised in questioning at Grey’s remarkably graceful step. Sometimes he forgot the man’s strength, the fact that he was not only entirely capable of keeping up with Kaspar but on occasion managed to surpass him at some tasks. He didn't get much chance for thought, it seemed Grey was determined to catch him off guard, surprise him to get him out of his head and into the moment. It was working. His laughter was surprised from him, arms circling to cup hands beneath the man’s backside to hoist him up and close. “Grey…” He tried to make his tone warning but it was still breathy with laughter, “You are turning us into a spectacle. Am I going to have to take you back to the car and tire you out some? I believe we were supposed to get a coffee, mm? Coffee and a nice walk before we drive to a hotel… Where we can start acting like it is our honeymoon…” His hands gave a light squeeze, smoothing outwards and up to his hips.

GREY WESTON “Shh.” The admonishment was fond, though too low to carry any real weight behind it. It was distracted; quietly amused as Kaspar’s hands shifted to support him, palms managing to slide just underneath the low sling of his hips to settle over his backside, carefully drawing him upright. His thighs tightened reflexively, squeezing lightly at Kaspar’s hips as his spine straightened. His hands rose a second later, gently cupping his face. “Technically we’re doing them a favor. It’s probably the best thing to happen to them all shift.” He half-shrugged, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Kaspar’s lips. “But I wouldn’t say no.” He nudged the toe of his shoe gently against the firm swell of Kaspar’s backside a moment forward, encouraging him to walk forward. “We still are. Maybe they’ll give us some empty paper cups we can tie to the bumper. Make it official.”

KASPAR He was laughing quietly, were it much louder or higher in pitch it might have been described as affectionate giggling. Kaspar couldn't feign irritation or bashfulness, forcing the man to lower and walk on his own two feet but he’d already decided to accept the consequences of such a ludicrous public display of affection. “Stop shushing.” He grumbled unconvincingly, leaning in to capture the offered kiss; finding it to be only a soft and fleeting thing that left him with the urge to pout until he received more of that kind of attention he let out a sigh. This desire was cut off, stopped in its tracks by Grey’s next statements and the pointed nudge to his backside. “Are we?” He craned his neck forwards to peer over Grey’s shoulder, eyeing his own hands decisively. As always he wore two wedding rings, one on each hand to represent the German custom and the Western custom, one in white gold and the other true gold. “I do not believe you have put a ring on it yet, and I already have so many. Besides, would that not be illegal?” His hands were adorned with a few other rings, hammered white gold and a chunky skull. He seemed to mull this predicament over for all of two seconds before making an abrupt decision. “Fine… For this trip we are married. Trial run, husband.” With deliberate force he disentangled Grey’s limbs, ensuring he guided the man to his feet. One of the rings was selected, the simple hammered band rather similar to his two wedding rings, “Give me your right hand, Liebchen.” He held his own out enticingly, ring held delicately in his left, waiting to once more be placed upon a finger.

GREY WESTON He wasn’t able to contain the fond, soft smile that settled into place in the wake of Kaspar’s quiet laughter. It was a relief, in many ways; coaxing the sound from him was always rewarding, but it had become rarer in recent months. Shorter and strained, except in the moments where either Will or one of the dogs managed to startle it from him. He was content to rest his forehead lightly against his for a split second, soaking in the mildly husky sound. He pulled away a second later, the barest hint of teeth pricking lightly against the skin of his lower lip and tugging once before he drew back. “Make me stop,” he countered, struggling to keep a straight face. “We are,” he confirmed. “Considering how late it is, it’s probably…” He started, trailing off a second later.

Once upon a time, he’d have balked at the sudden shift in topic. He’d been younger and more impatient; skittish when it came to heavier subjects. He hadn’t seen the point in speculating about the future; not when ‘here’ and ‘now’ were tangible and intimately close. Not so long ago Kaspar’s offhanded comment would’ve had him scrambling for the proverbial breaks. That had been then. He studied him for a moment, expression settling, smoothing into something approaching sobriety. “‘Yet,’” he agreed after a pause. He cleared his throat lightly. “Depends on your religion.” It wasn’t necessarily what he’d meant - or wanted - to say. “I…” He started. He didn’t get much further. “Your confidence is overwhelming,” he muttered, before growing quiet, softening in the equally rare way of his own. He settled to the ground lightly enough, despite the forceful way they disentangled, the heels of his shoes absorbing the blunt shock of the pavement.

He didn’t offer further argument; instead extending his hand with a mildly shy air.

KASPAR Part of him expected more resistance from Grey, a show of annoyance at his demanding or the fact that he’d put him down on his own two feet, perhaps even further teasing. Instead of his sharp wit slicing at Kaspar, trying to keep them on even footing and not showing too much weakness as he might have a matter of months ago, the man was offering his hand. It was more than that, it wasn’t just him being agreeable and putting up with Kas’s foolish whims, or playing the game; this was some kind of silent acknowledgement of his change in mindset. Grey had taken on Kaspar’s family, he had made it work and found a way to coexist with Sigrid and Will, even going so far as to show them affection and in case of the youngest Grube a certain amount of parental care. More than once he’d seen Grey smiling wistfully at the boy, or not hesitating to pick him up and try to figure out what he needed when the child grew fussy. When Kaspar came home still wearing his glasses with arms full of paperwork and a scowl, he’d be patient, he’d try to assist him or bring him hot tea to ease the process. As weariness began to set in and his productiveness would be waning someone was always there to tell him he’d done enough, to make him come to bed and now here they were; on vacation because Kaspar needed it but would never admit it.

That was it though, wasn’t it? Want had become need, he didn’t just WANT Grey, of course he still did want the man desperately but he needed him too. He needed someone unafraid to forcibly make him stop and look around, to see what he could be missing if he kept his head bowed over his work at all times. It was nice to have not one, but two people in his life who cared that much about him, to see what he needed and provide it to the best of their ability. He tried to do the same in return. It was why he relented and agreed to come away, why they stood here now in a parking lot with Kaspar carefully taking Grey’s hand. He cradled it a moment, thumb tracing over the knuckles. “Ich liebe dich, liebchen.”

The words were spoken softly, a husky note to his tone that spoke of some emotion he was not fully willing to let show. “Thank you for this vacation, you are right that I must take time to look around. Now, I will not be repeating that again so treasure it.” He’d tried to lighten the mood which suddenly felt heavy with the unspoken, fingers feeling restless as they carefully worked the band of hammered white gold onto Grey’s right ring finger. It was near identical to the one he wore on his right, the most notable difference unseen, a small inscription on the underside of the band that Kaspar wore. “In Germany we wear our wedding rings on the right, I have told you this before? I used to wear this on my left before I was married, we chose to respect both of our family traditions and it does not fit as well on my middle finger. It was an 18th birthday present, so keep it safe for me, ja?” He admired it briefly, looking at it on his partner’s hand. “I like it on you.” His free hand lifted to cup the man’s face, thumb curving beneath his jaw to tilt his head upwards as Kas lowered to press a kiss to his lips. It was the lingering sort, soft at first but with a certain tension that spoke of holding back.

GREY WESTON The careful way Kaspar cradled his hand between his own stilled him. The idle tracing of his thumb across his knuckles coaxed the barest falter in his pulse. It was instantly familiar; halfway giddy. Persistently so; the sort that no amount of caution could fully smother. It had been a constant, in their early days. “I love you more.” The words matched him in volume. Hushed and burdened with a handful of words that were far more urgent. More appropriate, at the very least. There was a quiet intensity to them; an unspoken need for understanding. A soft, affectionate scoff escaped him; the noise low in his throat. He’d accused him of being a man who spent too much time in his own head, shortly after meeting him. It hadn’t been a judgment - just a wry observation. The difference of a few months meant that he had a better understanding of how to coax him to the surface. While there was no question that Kaspar had sorely needed the vacation, a part of him was in it for the sake of the memories they’d create. “What was that?” He asked, feigning innocence. “I’m right?” The tease was gentle; he quieted again soon after. He tracked the careful movement of Kaspar’s fingers with something like wonder, acutely aware of the intimacy that hovered between them. Newer. Fragile. He was reluctant to spoil it by speaking.

Keep it safe. His gaze flicked up to Kaspar a heartbeat later. “Always.” The word carried the weight of a promise; an unspoken commitment. “Yeah?” He replied a moment later, the barest flicker of a grin tugging at his lips. He followed the gentle insistence of Kaspar’s curved fingers as they slid underneath his jaw, his own head lowering. He was content to let the kiss linger, shifting to tuck himself closer, fitting against Kaspar’s taller frame. He pulled away reluctantly a handful of seconds later. “Coffee,” he managed, once again taking hold of his hand and drawing him across the parking lot. It took less than a minute to reach the door. “Did you want anything?” He added, pushing the door open. The pair were immediately struck by a dry heat and the inviting, rich scent of coffee grounds. “I figured we’d switch.”

KASPAR His hands traced down along the man’s jaw, slipping tenderly over his neck, gingerly touching the ends of his hair before finally settling at his shoulders. Grey didn’t seem in any hurry to break away, and he knew that the moment he did it would be back to reality, that there was a risk of snapping that fragile thing that had blossomed. It wasn’t entirely new, they’d grown to trust each other implicitly, to know each other in such a short amount of time in a way he was convinced should have taken years. Kaspar drew Grey closer, wrapping him in an embrace that made him want to smile, to laugh with joy and he felt it curving his lips even as he continued to kiss the other man in a manner that was entirely devoted to the here and now. Just as quickly it was over, Grey was drawing away and breathing out a single word. Kaspar couldn’t help the little groan that left him, but he obediently loosened his grip, arms falling to his sides only to find one captured by the clasp of fingers linking with his.

They continued on to their final destination, the taller of the two trailing behind just so he could watch the man walk ahead, to study the side of face and elegant line of his throat in the strange flashes of artificial light coming from the strip of shops. It made shadows sharper, creating a greater contrast that would wash most people out but it made Grey look like an abstract painting, or a black and white photograph. All sharp angles, his lashes soft and spidery where they flared against his cheeks as he blinked, the faint movement of his pulse nestled beneath his jaw fluttering in evidence of his recent rise in heart rate. It was gratifying that he could make the man’s heart race, more so because it was more than just the physical, far more. When the entered the shop the light was too harsh, it killed the mood, so stark and jarring that it shocked Kaspar from his soft thoughts and made him aware of the late hour. It smelled good inside, and the warmth made him feel like turning off the lights and curling up on something soft. He almost missed the question and following statement, but he was aware that he was in no state to argue. “Mm, good idea. Tea, liebchen, no sugar. If they do not have this then just a black coffee.” His lips found the back of his head in a quick kiss before he ducked away to find a seat. As he walked he called out over his shoulder, “And if you insist on getting sweets… I’ll have something with pastry, or apple.” He all but threw his tall frame into the booth style, stretching out to nearly fill the space around him. It was that faded kind of red pleather, still kept somewhat shiny but it was scratched in places and wearing through. The table had little on it but sugar and napkins, some previous couple had scratched their initials into the wood and Kas picked idly at the flaking sections of varnish around it while he waited for his boyfriend.

GREY WESTON He grimaced in response, a hushed, resigned sigh acknowledging the request. Both were played up for Kaspar’s benefit; good natured, despite the silent pantomime that the man had appalling taste. They’d had the discussion many times before; Grey insisting that Kaspar’s ritual of preparing tea with the barest hint of milk or, in a pinch, barely more than a teaspoon of half-and-half, was barbaric. Trading insults over their respective mugs had become habit; comfortable, even in the barbed teasing. It was a small mercy that Kaspar hadn’t pointed out the hypocrisy, given how Grey prepared his coffee. Black, and bitter, lacking cream or sugar to soften the acidic tang. The look on the faces of the handful of people who’d been unfortunate to try a sip were nothing short of comical.

“I’ll request your dirty leaf water,” he said, the word closer to a content half-chuckle as Kaspar’s lips settled against the back of his head in a brief kiss. He left Kaspar to find a table, making his way to the sole open register. The barista behind it wore an expression that was halfway between amused and mildly smitten, leaving him to wonder how much of their earlier display had been noticed. He joined Kaspar a few minutes later, carefully carrying two steaming ceramic mugs, insulated by their matte black varnish. He set both on the scarred and mildly uneven surface of the table, before turning on his heel and moving to retrieve two smaller plates. He settled into his seat shortly after, wordlessly sliding Kaspar’s plate over to him.

It was an apple pie in miniature; cut in a way to resemble a partially open rose blossom. The golden edges deepened into a shade of caramel towards the center, the barest drizzle of honey complementing the dusting of powdered sugar that coated it. A handful of crisp apple slices edged the plate, arrayed in a delicate fan shape. Grey, for his part, had ordered a brownie large enough to border obscene; dark chocolate layered with smaller pieces of chocolate chip.

“They had tea,” he announced, gaze briefly settling onto the dull blonde of the wood exposed by the names carved into the varnish. “Don’t go all pensive on me,” he continued. “I thought we agreed that I’m the quiet, brooding one in this relationship.” He lifted his fork, slicing off an edge of the brownie and spearing it neatly, before lifting it so that it hovered in front of Kaspar’s face.

KASPAR The man watched in silence, barely quirking a brow at the items laid out before them on the table but it was enough to spur Grey on and he couldn't fight the slight quirk of lips, a tired shadow of a smile. “You are lucky that you are pretty, Weston… Thank you.” Kas snarked; there was no malice in it, just a touch of exasperated affection. Lips parted to accept the piece of brownie that had been presented to him, for one thing it would be rude to deny and add more fuel to Grey’s teasing fire and for another he actually quite liked chocolate. He chewed thoughtfully, lifting his shoulders in a casual shrug as he swallowed. “Sehr gut.” He declared, sipping at his tea before continuing. “And no poison, so that is a bonus.” The tea was hot and he enjoyed it, taking those tiny sips so as not to scold his mouth.

“I'm just tired… And we still have a while to go, makes me wish the sugar and caffeine would actually work for me.” His laughter was dismissive, clearly not interested in further pursuing that topic. “So… Your Mama… What HAVE you told her about me? Well, about us too I suppose.” He picked up his own fork, poking experimentally at the mini apple pie before separating a small bite which he popped into his mouth. It was good too, the tartness of green apple in the buttery pastry and the sweetness of honey. “And what topics should I avoid… You have said she might be strange to me. Is this because I am a man? Something you told her? Something about my lifestyle?” He knew he was charming, and that many people tended to like him unless there was something wrong outside of his control and he wanted to attempt to please Grey but making this trip as painless as it could be, the man didn't seem overly enthused about his mother have the time.

GREY WESTON A low grunt slipped from him a moment later, though the hand that held the fork to Kaspar’s lips didn’t waver. It was only once the muted click of the other man’s teeth combined with the faint pressure against the fork tines registered that he relented. “You’re lucky that you even got the full package, with those wrinkles,” he remarked idly. “The only person with a modicum of coding skills and a decent head for numbers. Being easy on the eyes doesn’t hu--easy, scowly.” The words were more affectionate than flippant; this much was evident seconds later as his fork sank into the soft crust of the brownie, his free hand automatically creeping along the table, fingertips brushing against the hollow of Kaspar’s wrist before his fingers curled around it.
“Poi--” He began, before abandoning the sentence with a thin exhale. “Just two more hours,” he clarified, the words muffled and slightly thick around the small bite of brownie he’d taken. They didn’t have much choice; they’d been flirting with sunrise for the past three. He shot him a glance, picking up on the shift in his tone. There was a note of wistfulness that abruptly soured; jarring in the way the laughter cut through it. For a heartbeat, he looked like he might say something; object, at the very least, to the implication that hung heavily in the air between them. It was easy to turn a blind eye to Kaspar’s immortality; the thing that thrummed just underneath the surface like a phantom pulse. It was, in part, for Kaspar’s benefit, though that wasn’t wholly honest. Grey hardly considered him less whole for it; less of a person. Less human, in his own right. But the moment passed, and he responded with a wry quirk of his lips. “You can always rest in the car,” he offered with a shrug. He paused, caught off guard by the question. He’d frozen, fork halfway to his mouth. He lowered it reluctantly a handful of seconds later, the dull clatter it made against the edge of the plate cutting through the silence.

“The truth. Mostly,” he began, fidgeting slightly in his seat. “I told her we met through a mutual acquaintance. Ran into each other a few times. She knows we own a house.” He stared for a moment. “Because you’re a--” He started, the words escaping as a shallow half-laugh. “No. She knew about my whole…” He waved his fork expansively for a moment, sketching a vague shape in the air, “from the time I was nine,” he finished. Not that his sexual preferences were anything they’d ever discussed at any great length. She’d been accepting, if tentative; bracing for her child’s inevitable heartbreak entire weeks and months before he ever did himself. He eyed him warily. “Which part?” He asked dryly. “No; mostly she wants to know when I’m going to give you a pronounceable last name. I probably wouldn’t mention anything that might give her a stroke.”

KASPAR He nodded his head along to Grey’s words, though his mouth remain slightly pursed, sucking his lower lip between his teeth to worry at it for a moment while considering reply. “Ok, Liebchen…” A small smile broke his pensiveness, followed by a shaky laugh. “A stroke? I promise to not give her a stroke, well, I will certainly try my best not to. I do not think that you would ever forgive me and I have decided that I like you very much, or at least, a bit.” Some of the cheekiness returned to his expression, it was a slow building sort of thing, like it was hidden beneath the layers or tiredness and uncertainty that clung to him. “Grey… Did you happen to tell her about the rest of my family? Like the fact that I have a son who lives with us? His mother? Oh, and of course our baby... “ He paused a moment before clarifying, “Bear.” Kas took another measured bite of apple dessert, sipping at the tea which was still deliciously warm.

“I just do not want to drop any bombshells that might make things uncomfortable for you, so if you think of anything else on the way then let me know and I will be on my best behaviour.” His fork jabbed mechanically at the food, putting to his mouth and chewing but it wasn’t really doing much for him right now, dawn was on the horizon and while he had recently discovered he could work in the daylight; a fact he had yet to share with his boyfriend, he was still likely to succumb to the need to sleep through it.


GREY WESTON His hands curled absently around his coffee mug, nails tapping idly against the ceramic in an arrhythmic pattern. The sound would have been distracting, if it hadn’t been muffled by the clatter of dishes being emptied into tupperware containers, providing a brisk sort of white noise. He studied Kaspar for a moment, head tilted slightly, as if in response to a complicated question whose answer he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Well, that’s a relief,” he replied mildly. “Since you missed the sixty day return window.” Despite his attempt to savor the warmth that radiated against his palms, almost to the point of discomfort, his focus was on Kaspar. It was only when the heat transitioned from an appreciative ache to scalding the skin of his palms to an angry, flushed shade that he flinched, the intensity of his gaze faltering.

“Are you nervous?” He asked bluntly. It wouldn’t have been entirely unreasonable. He wouldn’t have judged him for it; at her worst, his mother could have very well coined the phrase ‘hell on heels.’ “We aren’t that close,” he started carefully. “We were, but…” He shrugged, a sharp, jerky movement. **** happens. “I think she’s excited to meet you partly because she never got the chance with the other two.” He didn’t add that she’d rather staunchly taken Bryce’s side, shortly after their split. He couldn’t entirely blame her; she had thrown away her chance at marriage, something that had left her bitter and quick to anger. It had resulted in the pair becoming estranged for a year, and then a year stretched into two. Time was a fickle whore.

“There’s that word again. About that…” He started, allowing the sentence to hang for a heartbeat. “She knows. She doesn’t know that you’re...vitamin D challenged. Or that I spent four and a half years ducking her calls while completing a mattress tour of Harper Rock’s crack houses. And swilling blood, coincidentally.” He offered a wry smile. “Come on,” he added abruptly. “We need to get you to bed. You want a box?” He didn’t allow time for a response, before drifting towards the register, collecting two insulated cups and a small styrofoam box, all of which he dropped unceremoniously onto the table.

****
It proved roughly two hours to reach the hotel. He didn’t so much exit the car as slouch from it. “You should head in. We can worry about the luggage later.”

KASPAR Kaspar’s potential responses rushed through his mind, trying to pick one out of the flurry of options and settling for probably the weakest of all. His brows went up, murmuring quietly. “The other two…” A lazy sort of sarcasm allowing it to be noted that he wasn’t exactly offended or bothered by the concept of others, how could he be when he too had technically dated one of them, but to be in anyway compared or contrasted to them was not his favourite thing in the world. This situation for him was unique, he knew it was for them both in a way although Kaspar had better experience with the concept of vaguely settling down; sure he’d bent the rules in major ways on occasion but fundamentally he’d stuck to the concept of coming home to the same place and accepting his responsibilities. His shoulders hitched in a shrug, already looking towards the door and waiting to speak again until Grey came back to unceremoniously dump take away containers on the table. “Nervous is not the word, I am more concerned for you in all of this. It has been a time since you were home, things have changed… YOU have changed. I like to think things are better and that you have more of a chance to be happy but…” Kas picked at one of the containers, reluctantly letting him have it to put the remainder of the food in. There were times like this when Kaspar knew better than to argue.

---
“I have time, it is fine.” Was the curt response, Kas stepping easily from the car and busying himself collecting the overnight bag and things that would need to be put in the room’s fridge from the snack Grey had insisted on piling in with their belongings. They’d arranged the luggage so that they had smaller bags with essentials for the travel portion and one large bag of extra clothing for when they’d gotten to their destination. Checking in didn’t take long and before they knew it the two men were alone, surveying the room. Kaspar excused himself to take a shower before turning in, giving himself some time to reflect and just enjoy some quiet. He emerged a good fifteen minutes later, blonde hair damp and mussed around his face, wearing one of the fluffy white robes. The man all but poured himself onto the bed, staring at Grey with a steady, expectant expression.

GREY WESTON The remainder of the last hour had been spent in silence, broken by the muted ticking of the turn signal and the precise, toneless instruction of the GPS. Eventually it grew to be too much, and he’d reached for the audio cable, seamlessly adjoining it to his phone. The volume was kept mercifully low; less the window-rattling frequency that would have ordinarily shuddered along frame of the car, and more of a stutter of sound; a faint and persistent growl. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying. What snatches of lyrics could be heard were mostly hoarse and choked at the lower volume. Not that it would have shaken Kaspar from his mood, even if he’d risked the higher volume.

A mistake, as it turned out. The silence that descended the second the engine was cut was borderline suffocating. He considered protesting. “Oh, it is?” He asked in reply, his tone a perfect mimicry of the too-controlled response of the other man. “That’s bullsh--Kas.” He finished, tone softening into something approaching apologetic. He’d been content to lean into him on the elevator once they’d checked in, inhaling his scent. The impulse to shove him into the frame of their hotel room door and smooth away the tension with teeth and precisely placed hands surfaced briefly, before being shoved down. Instead, he busied himself with putting the room in order, shifting the luggage over to a central corner of the bedroom. By the time Kaspar emerged from the shower, he’d carelessly toed free of his shoes, leaving them scattered in extreme angles.

“What?” He asked warily a split second later. “You want to maybe try that again? Exit the room, slam the door, come back in?” He hedged, one corner of his mouth tugging higher, despite his valiant effort to keep a straight face. “Because I can wait,” he offered, tone hovering somewhere between solicitous and amusement as he stalked closer. “PS. Shut up.” It was with that sentiment that his weight settled onto the mattress, knee-first. He wasted no time in crawling closer, until the pair were nearly face-to-face. He veered away at the last moment, half-leaning over to turn off the bedside light, before recovering neatly, fingertips traveling just under Kaspar’s chin to pull him in for a kiss.

KASPAR For once he didn’t balk at the idea of shutting up, or did he protest just making a vaguely disgruntled noise in response to the slamming the door remark. If he’d thought it worth it he might have argued about it or made it into a joke, but he was tired and he knew that it was better letting it slide, to brush off his mood with some rest. After all, they had a long trip ahead and in the next few days it would be Grey’s birthday, the one he’d attempted to avoid Kaspar finding out about but it had been easy enough to con it out of him and even more so to act like it was no big deal while secretly making plans. Surely he’d picked up on the fact that Kas wasn’t one to let things slip by at this stage in their relationship? He had to figure SOMETHING was coming. Happily enough he sunk back into the plush sheets, drawing Grey down with him and getting lost in the feel of lips falling against his. “I will always allow you to shut me up.” He teased affectionately, wanting to just enjoy the short time they had before sleep would claim him.
---
Kaspar had slept in later than he had intended to, meaning his secret surprise for Grey would be held off until later in their trip. It would probably be more exciting that way, and besides a cloudy day would be ideal for the little reveal, less chances of mistakes made that might leave him smoking embarrassingly. The sun had just set when he found himself once more behind the wheel of the car, music on and hands tapping out the rhythm on the steering wheel. A glance to the side had him admiring Grey’s profile, reluctant to look back at the road but knowing it was sort of a requirement of driving. “Will you play a game with me, liebchen?” He asked abruptly, a thought occurring to him that while he knew a lot about Grey there were many things that hadn't come up, trivial things but he was curious. “Twenty questions, I will even let you have the first one.” He grinned devilishly, brows waggling. “You know that you want to…”

GREY WESTON The lack of resistance was rewarded by a pair of warm hands settling onto his chest. The skin under Grey’s palms still held a trace of warmth from the shower; still degrees cooler than his own, and rapidly fading, but hardly a deterrent. His palms slid over Kaspar’s shoulders, before trailing down his sides, eventually settling at his hips. The pads of his thumbs swept across his skin in small half-circles, applying the barest hint of pressure. The kiss, gentle at first, gradually grew more insistent, giving way to borderline bruising nips. It was partly to make up for his relentless teasing hours before, and partly to quiet Kaspar’s churning thoughts.

He understood the reason for his anxiety; it would have been cruel to dismiss it. Victoria was a question mark, in many respects. Neither of them had been farther than an hour from home in months. Getting Kaspar to agree to the trip had been a challenge - not because Kaspar didn’t understand the importance of it - but because wresting control from a man who prized it was a daunting enough task, without factoring in countless other worries. He relented when Kaspar’s hands reached to pull him closer, feeding a small measure of control back to him. He was more than happy to be a distraction until sleep dragged them under.
He roused - reluctantly - shortly before four the following afternoon. The weight of the crisp hotel linen had trapped his body heat, leaving the sheets pleasantly warm. He’d settled for pressing more snugly against Kaspar’s chest, a low sound of protest rising in his throat, sleep roughened and escaping as a hushed, incomplete noise. An hour later found them on the road again, the half-finished remains of a sandwich cradled in Grey’s lap. He’d packed them under the firm suspicion that Kaspar would have ignored all appeals for the endless parade of fast food chains that unspooled outside the car window.

He shot him a look at the question, raising an eyebrow. “Fine. Since I’m going first, would you prefer coffee or road head?” He asked, straightfaced.

KASPAR Really he shouldn’t have been surprised that Grey was only partially compliant, and that the words that came out of his mouth incorporated two of his favourite things to wake up to. “Seriously, Grey? You are going to make this game difficult, aren’t you?” He winced, giving his boyfriend a withering sideways glance. “However I am a considerate man and will answer your question. I would prefer coffee, road head would be far too distracting… Especially from you. Satisfied?” He snarked, but there was already the hint of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Now it is my turn and i’m going to ask a really, REALLY stupidly simple question. What is your favourite colour?” He seemed relatively pleased with this, it was fairly straightforward but that was sort of the point of these driving games. Start off with the simpler questions and work out to those with more significance, “Wait, do you want coffee? Can you wait for at least an hour or two more of driving?” He blinked over at the man, they’d grabbed a cup before they left but it hadn’t lasted long.

GREY WESTON “Nice save,” he commented. “Masterful, really. You didn’t say
‘hard.’” He countered the sharp look cast askance with a wounded one of his own. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, flashing a grin. His attention returned to the largely picked over remains of the sandwich, gingerly teasing a darkly veined spinach leaf from between the twin halves of olive bread, freeing it a moment later. Semi-translucent slices of parmesan clung to its center. He peeled the first of the slices free, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied air. “My favorite color?” He echoed. It was, in fairness, a straightforward question. He was briefly tempted to reply that there wasn’t one, which would have been honest in its own right. He relied too heavily on all of them in his line of work to have a substantial bias.

But that wouldn’t have been in the spirit of the game, and so, in the interest of give and take, he paused briefly to consider. “Probably purple. Jewel tones, though.” There was a muted crunch as the errant bit of spinach - bruised a shade darker by his fingertips - likewise disappeared. “Nah. I’m good. And you technically just wasted your second question. Least favorite season?” He countered.

KASPAR Kas’s nose wrinkled, brow creasing as he peered over to watch Grey picking at his sandwich, a reluctant sigh leaving him. “You can have naughty food for dinner, Grey, anything you like.” He’d promised it earnestly, albeit a little begrudgingly. The guy had made a genuine effort to appease him and convince him to ease up enough to go on this trip, to allow other people to step up and take on the bulk of the work. His response was no great surprise, it had come up in the past and Grey had expressed his interest in colour as a concept, and that his opinions on it varied greatly depending on whether it was clothing, decorating, painting etc. He had been particularly enamoured with the glossy jewel toned colours that were decorating the party they had attended together, the one held by the annoyingly handsome guy, all clean cut and broad shoulders, a hint of grown up preppy about him that reminded Kaspar of a more mature version of Luca. He banished that line of thinking, he didn’t want to dislike the man, he had no reason to - he just had to not care. “Wasted my… You are very unfair, you know this, ja? Rude.” He did consider though, clearly willing to answer the question. “I suppose summer, I like wearing my leather jackets and boots, it’s hard being a rockstar in summer. Tank tops and shorts with flip flops, this is not rock, this is… Just not rock.” He finished, shrugging. “Hmm… A question for my darling…” He stared studiously out at the road, one hand remaining on the steering wheel as the other reached out to rest upon Grey’s knee, drawing idle patterns across the fabric there. “If you ever caved to the idea of learning an instrument, what WOULD you learn?”

GREY WESTON He was momentarily startled by the offer. It wasn’t that Kaspar made a point of depriving him of rare indulgences - the opposite, in fact. He’d adjusted to Grey’s preference for meals that required minimal effort. Most evenings it was easy enough to compromise on a meal. There were times, however, when Kaspar would round the corner to find grease spotted takeout bags dominating the work desk, or the flimsy corner of a chinese carton firmly clamped between his teeth as he made his way from the kitchen, gaze fixed on the book in his hands. “If we pass a place with halfway decent fries,” he relented. “I made this.” He took a moment to carefully fold the wax paper that had covered the sandwich, before resealing it inside of its plastic bag, allowing it to fall away to settle between his feet.

His nose wrinkled a second later. “Okay, fair point. It’s still better than Canadian winters. Just bedazzle the fuckers.” He relaxed into his seat, appreciative of the faint rasp of Kaspar’s nails and their faint catch as they tugged at the grooves in the worn fabric. He was silent for a handful of seconds, the pause heavy with the air of a man weighing his words. “I…” He cleared his throat. “Already play.” He took a breath, exhaling the next word in a muttered rush. “...Bass.” He shot him a halfway sheepish look. “I started when I was sixteen. I probably suck at it now.” He considered for a second, before following up with a more pointed question of his own. “If you could live anywhere else, excluding the obvious, where would it be?”

KASPAR “And you made a delicious packed lunch…” His hand stilled where it had been stroking idly at Grey’s knee and thigh, pausing between one of the lazy rotations as the man carried on speaking. Almost immediately after the admission he thought back to one of the many times he'd seen Grey loitering around his instruments, at first he’d queried it as whether the man did play but he brushed it off, then it had been if was interested which was also shrugged away. Then there was the time he’d been caught holding off of Kas’s personal favourites, idly plucking at the strings; when he’d been spotted Grey stammered about tuning, changing his response to cleaning was so flustered that Kas laughed it off and let it drop. This most definitely explained that. “Arschloch!” He spluttered, glaring lightly at him, it was mercifully short due to his endeavour to concentrate on driving and the poor road copped the brunt of it. “You lied to me! Why!? I mean… I do not understand why you would bother? It is not a big, bad secret is it? Sometimes you are silly.” He grumbled, withdrawing his hand to return it to the steering wheel. “I caught you… I had let it to slide but I thought you were really playing, or trying to… London. I would go and live in London in again if I was not here or home.” He spoke in a clipped manner, clearly leaning towards irritated as his pronunciation was slipping from the comfortable territory of sounding vaguely cultured, European or almost British to the heavier, Germanic lilt that meant he was about to forget entirely about who he was speaking to or simply stop caring. Deutsche profanities were almost a guarantee, though he was doing his best to grit his teeth and not sulk. “You already have my question, you may answer.”

GREY WESTON A low exhale - uneven and weighted with a mixture of tension and resignation - hissed between his teeth. It was less the outburst itself that shocked the sound from him so much as the volatile mixture of emotions that clouded it. He was grateful for the diversion that being in a vehicle afforded; it meant that Kaspar was forced to split his attention equally between the road and the passenger he was borderline seething at. It wasn’t the suddenly clipped, aloof tone that made him flinch; it was the way Kaspar’s hand withdrew, recoiling with the same wounded shock as if Grey had struck him. It had seemed like a small thing to keep from him; trivial, nurtured by a half-forgotten bitterness. It had been easier to bury it, along with the rest of his formative years.

He reached cautiously for Kaspar’s nearest hand, his fingers lightly tracing the faint ridge of bone his knuckles formed before his fingers threaded cautiously through the gaps between Kaspar’s own. “Sorry,” he ventured, the word hushed and hesitant. “I didn’t bring it up before because…” A sharp, shallow bark of laughter escaped him, humorless and bleak enough to match the sudden shift in the atmosphere between them. “Because my mother told me it was a waste of time.” There’d been a time when the calluses that collected along the outer edge of his index and middle fingers had been thicker, and concentrated on the fingertips of his right hand instead. The conversation between his mother and himself had been equally tense; resentment combating the unspoken acknowledgment that her son possessed qualities too similar to his father; a talent that she was convinced would send him haring off like the near-husband before him.

“She encouraged me to find a ‘real’ career instead. “Broke a couple of CDs over it, actually, so…” He shrugged. “Besides. I probably do suck at it, now.” He eyed him. “You might as well ask again.”

KASPAR He relented, allowing the tough of the man’s hand, tsking gently as fingers threaded with his; he lifted their intertwined hands, moving them back to the precious position, resting against Grey’s knee. He listened of course, his frown changing, less irritated and more frustrated, confusion in his expression. “She doesn’t like musicians? Oh good, and look, you’re bringing home a lead singer who plays bass, that has in fact made music into a career… Fantastic. I mean, I play a lot of other… Wait, she wanted you to get a “real” career, something solid and you end up as an artist who spends a lot of his time hacking; WHICH is how he makes his real money.” He laughed at that, not at Grey but at the fact that his choice of hobbies weren’t exactly wholesome by most people’s standards. “Sorry… WHY does she think it is a waste? In my house it wasn’t about being a rockstar, or making music a career it was about education and discipline. I was taught many instruments, and had to at least try them, we were put in da-... You know all of this, I am rambling. My point is this, I did not stick with everything for my life, or make a career of all of these hobbies but they taught me lessons. Why is a hobby a waste? It did not have to be a future, just something you enjoyed.” He gave a supportive squeeze of the fingers between his, “You are a grown man now, you can have any hobby you like… Within reason.” He smirked, brows raising cheekily.

GREY WESTON “Mm, no. She does. Or she did.” The statement was carefully neutral, and for the space of a heartbeat, he allowed himself to be absorbed by the weight of their joined hands against his knee, the assurance the touch brought providing a sort of asylum. “My dad was a bassist,” he clarified. “The only reason I know that much about him - which isn’t much -is because his old Precision ended up on our doorstep on my sixteenth.” He fell silent for a moment, turning to his gaze to the darkened swath of the highway, his expression mildly distant. “It wasn’t about playing professionally. It was something he’d touched. Something he’d loved.” More than me. The implication hung between them, but went unspoken, the words swallowed roughly. “I guess it came down to the fact that she didn’t want me growing up to be like him.” As far as what his father had wanted, god only knew.

“It was,” he allowed. “Since taking over your correspondence and basic tech upkeep - which, by the way, was disorganized four months ago - it’s kind of taken over both hobbies.” He shot him a smirk at the laugh, offering a helpless sort of shrug. “Probably because I had a big gay crush on a fictional rockstar when I was fifteen, and she was convinced I’d…” A low chuckle, weary and heavy with a wry disbelief slid from between his lips, “**** if I know, honestly. Get hooked on drugs and leave a trail of ******** children in my wake. Pretty sure the early acceptance into Acadia was the final straw.” He glanced at him again a moment later. “You’re cute when you ramble. ...Yeah? Define ‘within reason.’ That’s my question.”

KASPAR “Oh…” It was all he had to say at Grey’s admission about why his mother had an issue with the concept of him learning an instrument, or letting it become a passion. He didn’t say anything else, there wasn’t much else he could in that moment and Grey appeared to have more to say to him. He listened. He smiled and scoffed as was appropriate, lifting their joined hands and drawing them up until his lips found the back of his boyfriend’s, brushing soft kisses against the knuckles. “So… Daddy was a musician, they tend to be fairly good at being absent I will agree with that, though I would be considered lucky that mine decided to be around somewhat when we were younger and then dragged us around with him at times. I do not think it so lucky, well, you will see when you meet him and spend more than ten minutes with him when the charm wears thin.” He laughed then, shaking his blonde head. “I still cannot believe you thought this worth hiding. It is perfectly normal to want something of someone who you came from, who is a part of you. You do not know much about him, do you?” He frowned, briefly glancing to watch Grey’s profile, something about it frustratingly familiar in that moment. In fact he’d reminded him of someone a few times over the years, but couldn’t quite reconcile the two images that blurred in his mind. It was a snapshot of the past and nothing more, a single image that seemed to overlap but he couldn’t remember where he has seen it before or who it was.

The question snapped him back to reality, Kas once more frowning out at the night. “My systems were fantastic, how dare you, I needed some help keeping it that way and perhaps there were a few things that could have been adjusted which is why I asked you to come on board but that is not the poi-... You are just wanting to make me do this ramble thing again, yes? Rude, Grey.” He scowled, the expression twitching shortly as laughter once more broke through. “Well, music didn’t get you hooked on drugs, in fact was it not a musician who helped you with that? We are doing better now, healthier and you are not squirming away violently when I bring up your future and actually doing something for yourself. This is good, yes? As for hobbies… Serial killer is off the list, so are redecorating drug dens with vomit and adopting every dog you see. These are all bad.” He nodded firmly, as this was a serious matter.

GREY WESTON The succinct remark - controlled in its neutrality to the point of being toneless - made him look askance at his partner. His shoulders rose sharply, a shrug that more closely mirrored the sharp tug of a marionette's strings by an unseen hand. He exhaled a heartbeat later, the brief tension in his jaw easing in response to the soft kisses that flurried over his knuckles. “Let me know whether I should fill the tense silences with small talk or skip straight to telling him I do lines off the world’s most flawless ***,” he deadpanned. The teasing offered a distraction; a way of gently correcting the course of the conversation away from a circular topic. He flashed him a smile - warm and halfway flirtatious - a wordless reassurance that he wasn’t dismissing Kaspar’s feelings on the subject. “He’ll either be pleased your debauchery level is appropriate for the kind of lifestyle he thinks you should be living, or we’ll be thrown out of future family functions.”

He quieted after a moment, briefly at a loss. “Kaspar,” he interrupted, the words measured and low. “You…” A humorless laugh escaped him after a moment, incredulous and heavy with the weight of affection and incredulity somehow intersected. “Are a musician. I’m pretty sure you have plenty of fans who also play an instrument, or sing, or think they can, and they don’t mention it, because…” He paused. “Because there’s no comparison. I played,” he finished, stressing the last word, before settling back into his seat, his eyes drifting shut. “For four years. Pretty sure if I tried now it’d be roughly the same, but shittier.” He knew Kaspar well enough to know the man would notice how he’d glossed over the earnest statement, and would likely zero in on it. “No,” he confirmed. “He wrote, sometimes. I tried to write back a few times, but mom kept the envelopes.” He paused. “Except once.” She had left it on the kitchen table in a moment of carelessness; nursing a migraine whose teeth bored into her skull with all the persistence of a hacksaw whose teeth were dull with both age and neglect.

He’d been fascinated by the foreign postmarks; the darkly vivid ink that soaked into the once-white envelope, its edges dog-eared, streaked with thick black marks that shuddered across the page. ‘Forward to address.’ ‘Not at this address.’ He’d had just enough time to neatly tear the upper corner free - coveting the stamps - before he’d returned to his bedroom. “It took two weeks just to reroute mail to the right inbox filters,” he fired back, grateful for the abrupt change in subject. He smiled in the dark, not disagreeing with the assessment. “I wasn’t sure I wanted one.” He shrugged. “Things change.” He shot him a look a moment later. “I was just going to suggest we do all of those when we get back home. Funsucker.” He cleared his throat a moment later. “New game. Two truths and a lie. Want me to go first?”

KASPAR There was a moment where the comment made him frown, glancing across at Grey as teeth worried his lip. Wasn’t sure if he had wanted one? Yes, that made sense, he had experienced parts of Grey’s disinterest and the ability he had to just disappear from the world for days on end. It had scared him, and it was what had clued him into the fact that this was different. With Grey it was not just some fling for him or infatuation on the other man’s part, it was love it was something he struggled to feel. Their very own little miracle, he supposed and now here was Grey in the car with him, the pair on the way to meet his mother. The man pretty much clean and sober, they were living together and adjusting to a lifestyle that was as normal as Kaspar’s was likely to ever get. He was part of the family now, he wasn’t just some side piece or a casual boyfriend; he had plans to stick it out for the long haul and that was something Kas normally would have found petrifying. Now? Well, he was seriously considering what that meant and was excited about the future. Their future.

The change from the talk of father’s wasn’t unwelcome, he was determined to be not only more present than his had been but to be able to have a genuine interest in his child beyond what he could do for him or how he made him look. Will was more than a status symbol, he was a part of him and by extension considered to be worth the world, he was destined for greatness of his own making. “Funsucker? We are calling it a fun now? I do not understand you English speakers and your strange slang, our words may be long but they are thorough. Yours?” He made a scoffing sound, trying very hard to keep the amusement from his face, though the twitch at his jaw may have given him away. “Perhaps one day you can get a third dog… Once one dies.” He glossed over it by offering a wary look and tentative. “Sounds dangerous to me, but we may play your game. You can go first.” Sure he’d probably regret it, but if it kept Grey amused he was content.

GREY WESTON “Hochnäsig Dutscher.” The words accompanied the sidelong look he shot the other man, faux stern. The words lacked the hesitation they’d carried in earlier months; halting and cautious. At first, he’d argued that it was because they were objectionable. It wasn’t entirely meant as a barb - Grey had spent much of his youth listening to late night conversations between his mother and her sister - the pitch and cadence of her voice often slurring, fading out. But she’d start again, lilting French strengthening, like fingers, numb with hypothermia, fumbling at a knot stiffed by frost. It was a language that played over the tongue like a dusting of cinnamon; rich and weightless and light in its intonation. German was harsher - required intention. “We’re not. But while we’re on the subject, it is kind of…” He cut off a moment later, a half-grunted sigh forcefully exhaling past his lips. “Are you done? Is it out of your system? Cos if you’re going to wax poetic about the German language this whole trip, I might use teeth.” He’d only just settled back into the seat - slouching slightly - when Kaspar’s next words caused him to grant him another sharp look, features softening briefly with shock and a flicker of something close to regret, vaguely pained. “Yeah, let’s not,” he said stiffly. “Someone’s already tried to kill Stoker.” He roused before the mood could sour, flashing him a coy smile. “Fine. I actually accepted my early acceptance into Acadia, for like a month. I honestly don’t have a problem with German, and…” He paused. “I lost my virginity in a Jeep. Kinda like this one...oh,” he concluded, gaze sweeping around the interior of the car.

KASPAR He didn't waste time being irritated or offended by his words, after all they were forced out in his own native tongue and well pronounced. The intention was clear, it was a subtle way of showing off his efforts and study. Not only has he clearly been listening to Kaspar and picking up on certain words but actually making a genuine attempt to learn enough to use in a conversational manner. It was flattering, even when used to throw gentle stings and barbs his boyfriend’s way. “I am not even mad. I like those teeth, you use them well.” His smile was bordering on hungry when his gaze shifted across to get a quick look at the mouth that had been conjured to memory, forced to the front of his mind by the tease. Of course he managed to earn himself another reprimand, this earning a vague shrug of apology. This he did not know.

No time was given to respond before Grey was declaring his facts and the lie he’d slipped in to try and trip Kas up. They’d spoken on many topics and while he knew much about the man he had also avoided certain topics because he would grow skittish at the stirring of particular pots. Asking him about school and gently nudging him to return to finish his studies, certain past relationships and his family were often sticky topics best left alone until Grey was ready to share. “Well… I know you are not in love with the German language, unless it is spoken by the sexiest man you know, but I am not convinced you hate it. While I would like it to be true I have doubts about you accepting entry to the school. You… Are just asking for trouble with the third, and yet…” His blue eyes flicked towards the mirror, the backseat of his luxuriously black jeep draped in a very familiar body in his mind's eye, not the pieces of luggage that cluttered the leather seat. “Considering how easily you made the suggestion back then, well… I will choose Acadia as the lie, reluctantly. You are aware your answer will require the stories attached? Also… Who the **** tried to hurt Stoker? They are insane, am I right?” He looked genuinely baffled.

GREY WESTON “I firmly believe in rewarding good behavior.” His response was coy, the effect more or less ruined by his inability to keep a straight face, lips quirking into a half smile. He reached over absently a moment later, giving his knee a sympathetic pat. “If you can get us through the next twenty miles in one piece, you may have yourself a deal.” He sobered briefly, considering Kaspar’s responses to the facts he’d posed. They were reasonable, for the most part; educated guesses based on what he knew of Grey’s background. “I actually did go to Acadia.” His response was even and mildly wistful. “The grant I would’ve received only covered half a semester, though, and only renewed once a year. It made sense to transfer somewhere cheaper.” He scoffed a moment later, before settling back into his seat with an exaggerated stretch. “I guess I can humor you. I actually lost my virginity at a Warped Tour.” He glanced at him sidelong, gauging his reaction. “An hour or two after the last set. And it was a van, not a Jeep,” he clarified.

He grimaced a split second later, humor fading in the face of Kaspar’s mildly incredulous tone. “You were at his bar a few nights ago,” he said carefully. “This was...****, a year ago? It was a few months after I met Jameson. He got in my face and Stoker reacted. Tore into him. Which just pissed him off more, as it turns out.” He paused, momentarily lost in thought. “He chased me a couple of blocks, tried to drain me. I fought back. I was still pretty new to the whole ‘blood thief’ thing at the time.”

KASPAR Kaspar nodded understanding in response to the Acadia comments, though it was a shame to hear, Grey had managed to find his way even without it. The admission about his Warped Tour experience had him smiling slyly, covering it up with mock surprised. “Look at you, Grey, total rockstar trash. I knew it. You know you’ll never quite live this one down, hm?” He’d chuckled at the light teasing, letting it drift off as his partner struck up his next story. This time his reaction was less amused, going from mildly confused to genuinely displeased. Kas’s hands tensed on the wheel, white knuckled under the stress of the strain of muscles under that death grip. “That… Jesse? Really? Remind me to punch him in the face without explanation when we returned.” He loosened his grip, settling again as the pair continued the drive.

----
They made it without any drama to the hotel, a beautiful room that the pair dragged themselves into, having a long shower and a steady sleep after. Kas woke hours before Grey, allowing him time to get organised for the day that would follow. For some time he’d been thinking of how to celebrate Grey’s birthday, not easy when the man was reluctant to admit that it even existed. He’d got the man’s presents, hidden in their luggage, and had devised a surprise. Kaspar packed up their items, leaving only clothes for Grey to wear, basic toiletries and a small bag to put his things in. On the pillow and bedside table he’d left notes, and planned with the hotel staff to give Grey a wake up call with a twist. There were abilities Kaspar had developed of late, things he’d discovered he could do. One of those things was that he no longer desired sleep at night, that not only could he walk in the day, but he could choose his own hours of rest. It had been a revelation that had helped him plan and plot, to gather the items he’d need for the surprise outing.

Before they’d left he’d spilled these secrets to Sigrid, taking her and Will out into the sunshine to prove it, so new that his body still felt uncertain about it, that he still found himself wary of staying out in it too long.
Mid-morning the alarm on Grey’s phone began to buzz, and moments later the phone on the bedside set to ringing. The notes and calls would lead him, instructing him to get ready and go down to the lobby, to ask at the desk for his next instructions. A car would take him to his destination, the garden of a beautiful gallery, where he would find Kaspar in a gazebo, waiting in the midday sunshine with a glorious picnic for them to partake in, it would be the last stop on their trip before they met up with Grey’s mother, the last moment he’d have to shower him in love and attention before he had to share him.

GREY WESTON
Grey was slow to rouse. The buzz of his phone’s alarm was as regular and persistent as a heartbeat, the screen casting pale illumination against the duvet. There was a sharper drone beneath it; a consequence of the case against the wood of the nightstand, relentless in its bid for acknowledgment. The crisp sound of freshly laundered sheets, still stiff with starch, countered the insistent sound. He groaned, the noise pitched low, a subtle protest that rose and then faltered at the back of his throat. He blindly sought the comfort of Kaspar’s frame, seeking to fit against him, to draw comfort from the familiarity of his scent, the feel of skin - only a handful of degrees cooler than his own - pressed against his own. He was met, instead, with absence. The sheets still held the shape of Kaspar; a pale, rough outline like chalk sketched against a sidewalk, faintly indented with his weight.

The absence of him was disorienting, prompting a frown as he shifted his weight onto one elbow. He was rewarded by the faint give of paper beneath his elbow, the muted crinkle capturing his attention. It was at that moment the phone on the nightstand rang. Grey winced slightly, shifting closer, fingertips hovering over the cradle, brushing against the cool contour of the receiver before lifting it to his ear. “Hello?” He ventured. The greeting was wary and sleep roughened. “Good morning, Mr. Weston!” The voice on the other line was, in contrast, contained both clipped professionalism and a faint warmth. “This is your nine AM wakeup call.” There was a pause, and he fought against the urge to groan again. No doubt Kaspar’s handiwork. He cleared his throat, gaze sweeping around the room, taking in the faint seam of pale gold light that pooled against the carpet from the slight part in the heavy drapes that hung in the windows.

“Thank y--” he started. Perplexed or not, he managed to inject an air of gratitude into his words. “Just a reminder that breakfast is served from 6 AM until 10:30 AM in the second and first floor dining rooms. Please report to the front desk whenever it’s convenient.” Grey was silent for a heartbeat, his attention diverted by the sheaf of paper tucked beneath his elbow. “Mm. Will do!” He hung up idly, almost as an afterthought, before carefully teasing the paper free. It was the off-white typical of most hotels, the surfaced textured with a vaguely raised print. A reminder of the scheduled call. He shook his head, before rising, shrugging free of the sheets. It was only after he’d managed to walk the short hallway leading to the bathroom, fingertips idly sliding beneath the dimmers on the wall and coaxing them upwards, that the hour struck him.

He dressed hastily, pausing just long enough to run a damp comb through his hair. It had grown dense in his sleep, the moisture from the shower the night before causing it to fall to one side, a handful of strands upright in small spikes that collapsed under their own weight, curling downwards at the tips. He retrieved his phone from the nightstand a moment later, toothbrush tucked in the corner of his mouth as he swiped to unlock it. He exited their hotel room minutes later, making his way out into the hall to page the elevator. He allowed himself to be shepherded into the waiting car that idled at the curb like a man dazed upon reaching the ground floor, which wasn’t far off from the truth.

By the time traffic eased, the flow of morning commuters reduced to a trickle, it was just after 10. He'd allowed himself to enjoy the view outside of the passenger window as they navigated the lingering congestion, taking in sights both familiar and less so. He was only mildly startled when the driver signaled a left, gliding into guest parking for a local gallery.

He'd reached for his wallet, intending to cover the fare, only to be waved away. He likely would've refuses the tip as well, if Grey hadn't insisted. He let himself out some minutes later, making his way towards the location that had been pointed out to him.

He froze once he reached his destination, silent at first. You're dreaming, he rationalized to himself. It seemed the easier explanation for the sight that greeted him. Kaspar was bathed in the soft mid-morning light, skin and hair kissed gold. It was weak sunlight, admittedly; the day was slightly overcast, thin gray clouds drifting across the sky to reveal flashes of clear sky. He made his way to Kaspar haltingly, as if he might wake, break the illusion if he walked too quickly.

He leaned into him a second later, face nestling against his chest, touch still so light, borderline reverent. At a loss for words. And then: “***.”

KASPAR
His body felt light, unburdened as he moved about setting up the last of the surprise. The gazebo was beautiful, shaped white columns with half of it covered by white painted lattice that was overgrown with beautifully scented flowers of white and lilac, surrounding by vines that crept and wound elegantly about them. A table had been set up, draped by a table cloth and with a large picnic basket set upon it. Wine glasses and a bucket of ice holding cold water and champagne, a platter of fresh fruits and chocolate coated strawberries sitting upon the table ready for eating. Beneath the table sat a number of boxes in different sizes, housing the gifts he’d chosen for Grey, to celebrate his birthday.

He’d carefully groomed, styling his golden halo of hair so that it curled delicately around his ears, letting the natural wave of it sit as it would, pushed back from his forehead. Sunglasses perched upon his face, protecting his blue eyes from the sun, though clouds hovered and rain ensured that he wore a jacket. While his clothing was casual he looked neat, a young man waiting for a date, fidgeting as he anticipated the arrival. The car pulled up and his heart felt like it was in throat, feeling both excitement and anxiety at Grey’s reaction, praying to gods he didn’t believe in that it would be a positive one. Why wouldn’t it be? It wasn’t like him to get nervous, to care much what others thought, but when his loved ones were involved he would go to impressive lengths to please.

When he heard the car pull up he began to walk down the steps, pausing before them, watching the way Grey seemed to drift uncertainly towards him as if walking through a dream. Kaspar kept his arms at his sides, palms upwards, open and ready for whatever Grey had to throw at him. Arms curved around Grey as he leaned into him, face pressed against his chest, so fragile in his embrace. That was, he appeared fragile, shaken… And calling him an ***. He laughed, bright and warm, lifting him up. Lips finding his with gentle, adoring kisses. “Surprise?” He let him back onto his feet, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Happy birthday.”

GREY WESTON
It would have been a lie to say he wasn’t shaken. His shock was belated; a dulled and tempered thing that crept up slowly, washing over him with the same vivid shock as a still pond in winter, its water dark and cold. The current of doubt and a quiet anxiety, held at bay by a prevalent grogginess, swept over him, dispelling all trace of wonder and whatever brief magic it laid claim to. He was struck with an impulsive to brace his palms against Kaspar’s chest and shove, to lash out as latent fears rose to the surface. He could have; the words damning him for being so reckless, questioning how he could have kept something so momentous to himself rested on the tip of his tongue, as biting as the chill that swept along his marrow. Instead, he pressed his face more firmly into his chest, drawing in his scent in shallow lungfuls that calmed the tumult of emotions that raced through his thoughts.
He didn’t protest as he was lifted up. He knew Kaspar had missed the sun. It was evident in his quiet wistfulness when a member of the household swept in from the late summer heat, skin bearing the traces of it in the form of light bronze skin or a lingering heat that rose from it, their clothes sharp with the scent of mown grass and sweat.
He couldn’t begrudge him this pleasure, and so he wrapped his arms around him, lightly circling the back of the neck as he returned the soft shower of kisses, slowing after a few minutes in order to gently knock his forehead against his. He was warm, Grey marveled. Only faintly; the autumn sun was too anemic to provide even a fraction of June’s warmth. But his bustling had been enough to leave a patch of skin exposed, pleasantly warm to the touch.
“A little warning next time, mm?” He muttered, even as he rose on tiptoes, lips hunting those vague patches of warmth, gracing them with soft kisses. He winced internally a moment later. “You remembered,” he countered, somewhat surprised. “I mean...birthdays? What are those? I popped out of my dad’s thigh or some ****.”

KASPAR
He held Grey, enjoying the light kisses, his hands stroking soothingly at his back, watching his expression for the subtle shifts and changes, showing the way he tried to process. It had dawned on Kaspar that perhaps he should have given Grey warning, he'd considered it numerous times but he didn't think there was any better way TO tell him. It would be a shock no matter how he did it, and Grey would never have believed him if he hadn't shown him. Kas's hands lifted, taking Grey's face against his palms, making him meet his gaze. "I am sorry, but I hope it is a happy surprise?" His laughter followed shortly, a low scoff at Grey's realising his overarching intentions, squirming away from it. "Nein, liebchen, you deserve to be spoiled. It could have been worse, I could have thrown you a party." He kissed him once, a slow kiss, softened by the smile that he couldn't deny curving up the corners of his lips. "Come, let me show you." He slid his hand down his partner's arm until his palm pressed to his, fingers lacing together so that he could gently draw him towards the waiting picnic, only releasing him once they'd ascended the stairs. Once they were settled he reached beneath the table and begun to pull out the boxes. "You aren't allowed to be mad today..."

GREY WESTON
He paused, eyes briefly narrowed in thought, as if he had to consider the question. "Probably for the best you didn't pull this stunt in the middle of August. That could've been potentially embarrassing." He settled on at last, lips quirking upwards in a sly grin. It was a peace offering, of sorts; visual confirmation that his annoyance was mostly for show. At the very least, he didn't harbor any lasting grudges. "So it's...impressive. Definitely a good thing, yeah." He shook his head slightly, allowing himself to be briefly mollified by the hands that stroked his back. His expression shifted a second later; gaze averting. His lips parted, on the verge of protest. He thought better of it a moment later, a low sigh escaping them instead. It would have soured the moment to argue. Truth be told, Kaspar's excitement was infectious, and it would have been unfair to dampen his spirits simply because Grey himself wasn't comfortable with attention. The flash of annoyance lingered all the same. But he let himself be led, fingers interlacing through his, carefully making his way up the stairs. "I dunno. We're not even halfway through..."

KASPAR He’d removed his glasses once in the shade again, blue eyes sparkling with quiet excitement as he prepared to give Grey gift’s he’d been thinking about, collecting and planning for so long. Kaspar’s head tipped in response to the remark, an innocent questioning that made him appear almost angelic, big baby blues and waves of gold, the light picking up the colour. “I am not sure what you mean… But I got you these.” He lifted the first box, presenting it. They varied in sizes, the first the size of a shoebox because, it was. He’d wrapped it, and inside were a pair of custom made Converse high top Chuck Taylor’s in varying shades of grey, the man’s name embroidered on them. Another small box had inside it a notebook, similar to that which Kaspar always carried on his person, though the writing embossed into it was silver opposed to Kaspar’s gold and on a dark blue leather. It had reminded him of the evening, of the moon to his sun. The embossed lettering read “I’m a Masterpiece…” on the front and on the back “Every Shade of Me.” This same text was echoed on the bottom of each page in finely printed script, handwritten in Kaspar’s elegant hand. Inside the first page is a short message from Kaspar, “Fill this with every thought, every dream and idea you want to make reality or need to exercise from the darkest spaces of your mind. Know that no matter what thoughts surface you are loved, and you are accepted. You are a shining star, the tempered moon who eclipsed me, your blazing sun, and I love you, every single shade, every shadow and contrast that creates you. - Yours, Kaspar”. It was one of the more intimate gifts, it was something important to Kaspar that he wished to share, but also something he felt he could do for Grey, could give him. A secret release, a place to scream in silence when he needed it.

The largest box had a stack of records, each one with a note about why he chose it, what he felt it meant to their relationship. He’d included NIN’s Pretty Hate Machine, in reference to the holey shirt he’d tugged out on the night he’d first realised that he had a building desire to kiss that sassy mouth, even as it tried to resist him, tried to spit venom. A rare live vinyl recording of a Free concert, including “Mr.Big” and “All Right Now”, a reminder of the first time he went inside Grey’s apartment and got to see more of who he was. RY X’s Berlin EP, songs that spoke more of Kaspar, relating to some of the lyrics and melodies. Alt-J’s This Is All Yours, mainly for the song Every Other Freckle, one that he felt needed little explanation between them. There were others, references to moments, a song heard or that he felt spoke of their unique relationship. Lastly in that box was a CD, recordings of Kaspar’s own, three songs he’d written with Grey in mind.

The final gift he had to hand came in a simple envelope and was given last, inside it were tickets to Germany, the date blank, having paid extra to have them be flexibly dated, the only rule being that they must be redeemed within one year of purchase. He wanted Grey to come home with him, as he was going home with Grey, to see where he loved and how, the pair of them opening up their lives to each other. He watched with bated breath, shy with every gift that was opened. “I hope… You like them.” He spoke the words gently, knowing that Grey’s moods weren’t always entirely predictable, just hoping he had gotten it right and not ruined their adventure with his presumptions.

GREY WESTON Birthdays, for Grey, were optional in the way certain holidays were to specific denominations. It had been one of childhood’s first harsh lessons. He’d first realized it in the spring of his first grade year. He’d raced home from the bus stop that Monday, the invitation to a classmate’s birthday party clutched in one hand, his bookbag - nearly three sizes too big - jostling, swinging in wild pendulum arcs inches from the back of his knees. He remembered shouldering open the kitchen door, breathless, cheeks wind-bitten and flushed, barely shouldering out of one strap before he recounted his luck, thrusting the laminated invitation, bedecked in cartoon characters, in his mother’s face. He’d kept it folded in his pocket the remainder of the week, fingers periodically cautiously delving into his pocket to ensure it was still there, stroking it like a good luck talisman. It was their fourth move, and the first time Grey had been invited anywhere.

He was an hour late to the party the following Saturday; in time for a handful of party games and cake. He had given his gift to the boy’s parents in a moment of shyness; worried that it might disappear if he placed it on the table piled alarmingly high with carefully wrapped packages. He’d made the card himself; painstakingly rendering Andrew’s favorite characters on the outside. It was information he’d gleaned from the boy a day at a time. Taped to the inside was a dog eared five dollar bill, kept aside on the sly from his mother. It had been intended for a lunch.He’d skipped it that week, convinced that Andrew, the boy with eyes the color of sea glass, could put it to better use. He’d felt a flush of pride as he carefully secured it inside the card. It was the most money he’d had at one time before; a worthy sacrifice for a new friend. He’d all but held his breath in anticipation as Andrew opened his card, a cautious, hopeful smile slowly spreading. He hadn’t expected the boredom. Or the laughter. Afterwards, Andrew made it a point to approach him during arts and crafts and inform him he’d only invited him because his parents made him.

He wasn’t invited to anything else that year. Most years, birthdays were quiet affairs, growing up. They usually consisted of one small thing; a CD, or new art supplies. A favorite meal. It was what his mother could afford, and he hadn’t begrudged her attempts. One year she’d forgotten entirely. He’d come home to the chemical scent of gas, the pilot light on the stove unlit, and his mother asleep at the kitchen table. His fifteenth birthday brought the bass, anonymously left at their doorstep. Grey had been skeptical that it hadn’t been her doing, at first; there was no return address on the battered cardboard box it came in, nor on the scuffed case. The look she leveled on it, however - somewhere between pained and a quiet resentment - quickly dispelled that notion.

It was old; far outside of the realm of secondhand. It took him two years of careful internet searching to appreciate just how old. They could have reasonably pawned it at any time; more than once, it had been the threat used to get him to turn it down, in fact. Even so, it never quite came to that. He was jarred back into the present by Kaspar’s innocent remark, gaze settling on him with pointed skepticism. “You’re a bad liar,” he countered. “Kaspar. You didn’t have to--” He started, before relenting, accepting the first package with a good natured grumble. He slid his nails beneath the flaps of the wrapping paper with ease, carefully sliding the box from inside. He removed the lid a second later, peering in at the Chucks with an expression of pleasant surprise. He owned quite a few, all of them battered, tongues frayed, more than a few the victims of sharpie-inspired redesign. He ran an appreciative finger over them all the same, admiring the seamless fade of one shade into the next. The journal was next; he was far more careful with it, fingers carefully tracing the embossed lettering, and the familiar curving slant of Kaspar’s writing. His expression softened, clearly touched.

The records coaxed a smile, each significant in more ways than one. To the pair of them, in many ways, but also in the sense that he’d willingly spent hours with more than one on repeat, accepting their escapism. If anything could have been said to throw him slightly, however, it was the latter of the gifts. He blinked, a brow arching slightly, taking note of the pointed lack of a defined date. It seemed apt; they hardly seemed able to keep track of one day to the next, recently. He glanced up at last, the shy words almost startling. “I do. These are...thank you,” he managed, quietly. “Really. You’ve been paying attention.” The last was stated with a genuine surprise; grateful and overwhelmed all at once. “You’re also not subtle. Guess it’s only fair though; you haven’t complained about being hauled halfway up the country. Yet.”

KASPAR It was with great relief that Grey verbally confirmed he liked the gifts, though he seemed remarkably surprised that Kaspar did in fact listen, that he paid attention and, clearly, treasured moments they shared. “Of course I have, Liebchen. Even the moments that were hard for us were good, because they helped us to grow together. I’m… Very happy with you, Grey. I love you…” He grinned at him across the table, standing so that he could close the gap, leaning down to kiss his partner as if he couldn’t quite resist doing so. “I’m not subtle? At all? Does this mean you’ll come home with me? I’d adore it, more than anything.” He muttered, capturing his lips once more in playful kisses.

The pair settled in to enjoy the picnic, sharing laughter and teasing between strawberries and champagne. It was a lovely afternoon, a very much needed extended break from driving, from thinking about what came next. After lunch they’d taken the party to the gallery, exploring, Kaspar listening with interest as Grey commented on the pieces, giving his own opinions here and there having picked up some things over the years from Sigrid who had studied and worked in art curation. They’d had the place to themselves, taking moments from silly photo opportunities, Kaspar posing in imitation of a statue to make Grey laugh. It had been near perfect, as far as dates went, just a moment in time to enjoy each other’s company.
---
The last of the drive had been relaxed, the two of them in a honeymoon mood after their brief reprieve, Kaspar finally able to really talk about plans, about what came next for him now that he could walk in the sun, could keep normal hours and wake up each night where he fell asleep. It was hard to deny that he was lucky, that while he’d had his curses to bear he’d largely overcome the worst of it. His greatest horror was still in the mirror before him whenever he had the misfortune of looking in them, difficult at moments when he was driving, concentrating on the road and forgot that he might on occasionally catch part of his reflection in the rearview mirror. Yet even that hadn’t been able to dim his mood, he positively shone with pride and happiness, he was flirtatious and playful with Grey for the entire rest of the trip… Until they drove into his hometown.

It was then that a silence fell over him, turning the wheel in response to Grey’s directions, heading towards his mother’s house. Kaspar began again to wonder what she might think of him, whether this would be good for their relationship or not. He’d never had any problems with parents before, his in-laws adored him even with his unique lifestyle, because no matter what he always made sure that Sigrid was safe, happy and loved, that her needs were met. Would Grey’s mother be so accepting? He couldn’t be sure either way, but he hoped for his lover’s sake that it would be a lovely catch-up. When he pulled up at the curb, letting the engine rumble and turn over, twisting the key to kill it, he couldn’t help but turn to study Grey’s profile, wondering how he felt about this moment. “We’re here? Are you ready, liebchen?”

GREY WESTON
The silence that fell was a tense one. It had been nearly five years, yet he could still recall with absolute clarity the most subtle detail of the aging cul-de-sac, memories surfacing like ancient Polaroids, faded to the point where they were almost colorless, landmarks as insubstantial as mirages, made grainy by age or distance. He could almost breathe in the sensory ghost of the morning he’d left; the way the stick shift vibrated under his hand so hard he couldn’t be sure which was shaking; his hand, or the transmission. The stale scent of leather and cigarette smoke that couldn’t quite undercut the sharper, vaguely damp scent of mold as the air vents labored to warm the car. The effect was not unlike the short, periodic exhales of an asthmatic; lukewarm, at best, and not without moments where the vents would stall entirely; a thousand silent prayers spilling from his lips like beads from a broken rosary that his mother wouldn’t wake as he backed out of the driveway and navigated familiar roads in the pale gray light.
It was strange, to drive down those same roads. He’d half expected the neighborhood to remain the same, frozen in a time capsule at the exact moment he’d left, only leaving behind the last three months of his eighteen years. In a way, it had; clapboard houses with weathered boards warped with age lined the street; their once white paint blistering, separating from the wood in ashen flakes like a hand stricken with leprosy, shutters jaundiced with mildew and hanging at a slant. But as they drew closer, they were replaced; sagging wooden fences giving away to wrought iron and gazebos, houses ranging from respectable shades of white to soft blues and corals, gentrification taking root like a single rogue healthy cell surrounded by pre-cancerous brethren.

Grey was quiet at first, glancing up at the modest two-story where he’d grown up. It was cream in color, framed shutters a nondescript, stately black. The low stone wall that ringed it - with a smaller latched garden gate - had grown worn over the years, the wind eroding it just enough to expose the oval-shaped, milky quartz inlaid along the top. He paused, thumbnail tucked between his teeth. “I guess?” He managed, releasing a shaky laugh. “Only one way to find out, right?” He continued, his hand finding the release for his seatbelt a moment later. He threaded his fingers through the handle of the passenger side door, pausing. “Fair warning. She’ll probably do that European thing.” He didn’t pause to clarify, before gripping the handle of the car door and shoving open the door.

KASPAR
He echoed the action, pausing only to take a deep breath, bolstering himself before he opened the door. There was a nervousness to Grey that he found hard to ignore, and while he knew it probably had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the woman who waited for him, it still made him feel a similar flutter of uncertainty. What he needed to do was that aside, to focus on his partner, to support him and so when they exited the car he moved around to the other man’s side, sliding an arm over his shoulders as they approached that gate. “The European thing?” He queried quietly, not entirely expecting an answer.

They made their way to the door together, Kaspar letting Grey take the lead, “I love you.” Was the last thing he whispered as an aside, lips brushing along a cheekbone before he straightened up, awaiting the inevitable greetings.

GREY WESTON
Grey’s mother, despite having lived her entire life in Long Beach, California, was nevertheless the daughter of first generation immigrants. The grandparents Grey had never met were from Marseille; a city they’d returned to when his grandmother’s health began to decline. Grey’s memories of them were hazy, at best; the impression of rose water and the sweetly sharp scent of dark chocolate with mint centers, pipe smoke and sweaters left too long in airless closets that seemed to cling to every Christmas card and the increasingly infrequent postcards over the years. They’d stopped eventually. Grey had been twelve. He’d tried to miss them, for his mother’s sake, but it was easier said than done. The trouble with loving a memory is that eventually, the stories that went into the weaving of them were gradually told less and less.

Grey didn’t so much startle as flinch, shying away from the sound of the driver’s side door swinging shut. He caught himself a moment later, a low, derisive scoff escaping him. He tucked himself against Kaspar’s side, taking comfort in the weight of his arm as it settled around his shoulders, anchoring him in the present. It was enough, for the moment; a way to hold childhood doubts in check, to chase away the hazy sound of his mother’s voice, raspy, worn over the years until it sounded like the hissing catch of a needle against vinyl, the barest skip that he’d come to resent. He managed a weak smile in reply as Kaspar’s lips traced across his cheekbones. “Love you too,” he murmured. He curled his fingers into a loose fist, raising his hand to knock. They didn’t have long to wait. There was the faint sound of footsteps - rapid, the eagerness behind them barely contained - before the door swung open. Grey was immediately struck by how little the woman who stood framed in the doorway had changed. A little thinner, perhaps - certainly grayer. But otherwise she was exactly the same; willowy despite her petite frame, her hair a startling shade of copper-red that had, as a child, always reminded him of fox fur.

It was shorter than his aunt’s; tumbling just below her shoulders in a riot of curls that only tightened with the humidity, more closely resembling a collection of crazed bedsprings than anything else. There were flecks of silver beginning at her temples, and he felt the slightest pang at that.

There was a heartbeat of tense silence. Grey’s mouth was suddenly dry, an impossible weight and heat forming at the back of his throat. When he managed to speak at last, the word was thin, slightly choked. “Mama.” She didn’t reply, instead sweeping him into a tight embrace. He hesitated a handful of seconds, before carefully wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close with a quiet air of intermingled affection and caution. She released him after a handful of seconds, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders, gently pushing him backwards to eye him critically. “Look at you!” She breathed. “I swear, you’ve grown.” “Mom!” This time the word was sharper, bordering a groan of protest. Her eyes sparkled briefly, alight with a very precise, familiar sort of mischief.

Her gaze settled on Kaspar a heartbeat later. “And you. You must be Kaspar.”

KASPAR
The innocent uncertainty, the way his voice struggled to obey him when he tried to croak out a word made Kaspar want to pull him back, to hug him close and bundle him back into the car to escape from the memories of his childhood. They were largely represented in the place they stood, and in the woman who pulled Grey to her. Mama was what Kaspar called his own mother, but they had a very different relationship as far as he understood it, to what Grey and his parent had. What he was witnessing was no doubt private, a moment of unspoken words, holding weight for Grey because of all that had changed since the last time he’d made the trip. Kas wasn’t sure whether to walk away, or at the very least to look away. He waited, keeping his polite smile in place until he was acknowledged.

She was still pretty, though age had touched her and time wearied her slightly, there was a vibrancy about her that he could imagine verged on manic if the mood struck her. It fit the descriptions Grey had given of her, fit the image of the woman he’d described from his childhood. When she said his name he nodded, extending a hand. “I am, Kaspar Grube, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

GREY WESTON
The gaze she leveled on Kaspar was vaguely reminiscent of the measured looks Grey often leveled on the man. The difference, however subtle, was that while Grey reserved such looks to convey skepticism, a flat and pointed thing meant to wear the other party down with its nuanced patience, more often than not it was a softer gaze; searching and earnest in its desire to figure a person out. His mother’s had the opposite effect. There was a warmth to her gaze; a sense of reservedness tinged with something fragile; whether hopefulness or a helpless sort of adoration. An echo of the same vulnerability that trailed Grey like a cloak those first handful of months; that could still be found in certain slants of light in unguarded moments. It hinted at the woman she’d been; edges softened, worn smooth by motherhood and quiet melancholy.

Her eyes were a soft, pale gray in contrast to Grey’s own brighter shade of hazel. Unremarkable in most respects, except for the flashes of stormy blue - closer to seawater during a storm - that flecked them. She smiled, the gesture coaxing the crowfeet at the corner of her eyes to briefly appear; lined in a way that suggested she’d spent a fair amount of time laughing in her youth - in delight, or mockery, or challenge. Something to suggest she hadn’t always been the tarnished, tame thing age had made her. And yet curiously, she wasn’t diminished for it. The relief Grey felt once released was short lived; replaced by a desperate desire to sink into the ground as his mother ignored the offered hand entirely in favor of stepping closer, rising onto her toes in order to draw him in with the same light touch of her hands against his shoulders, delivering a brisk kiss to either cheek before stepping back.
“That European thing,” Grey muttered in aside, cringing inwardly.

She stepped back a moment later. “Isidora Weston. Call me Izzie. Pleased to meet you as well.” There was a beat, and then: “Well, come in, come in! Dinner will be ready in an hour or so.”

KASPAR
Kaspar didn’t argue when she stepped towards him, moving the hand aside so that it could gently touch her upper arm as she leaned in to deliver kisses to his cheeks. He returned them, familiar with the custom and having no complaints about it. It was nice to be welcomed in that manner, it took away the stiff formality and he delivered the woman a warm smile as she stepped back to welcome them into her home. “Thank you, Izzie, we would love to.” They followed her inside, taking a brief tour of the house, Grey ensuring the door to his bedroom remained firmly closed which only managed to earn him a very interested look from Kas. He had every intention of finding out just what teenage Grey’s room was like, his mother assuring him she hadn’t changed it since he left as she knew he could be particular about his things. The man had made a sound somewhere between a groan of frustration and a huff of disapproval, ushering his mother and Kaspar towards the couch to delay the inevitable.

The customary questions began almost immediately once they’d sat down, Grey’s mother rehashing the few details that she’d managed to glean from conversations with Grey. Kas nodded his head at her questions about his nationality and his age, telling her some things about his family when prompted and receiving an enthusiastic response about his being a twin. It didn’t feel like a heavy interrogation but he could feel the curiosity as he told her of how he’d come to live in Canada and why he’d returned, explaining briefly about his parents unique work situations and his own. It had earned a tight smile, but he couldn’t exactly lie when it was such a big part of his life, not for the sake of avoiding discomfort. He knew that she didn’t entirely approve of artistic pursuits when Grey was younger, specifically musical due to his father having had some instrumental talent, and that it might be a sore point but he couldn’t exactly deny that it was a huge part of his life. “That’s right, you’re a musician. You play bass, too. Seems I'm destined to be surrounded by them.” There was something in her tone that wasn’t quite regret, nor sadness, it bordered on resignation that felt even harder to swallow. She excused herself to finish dinner, telling them to sit and relax, and Kaspar found himself breathing a sigh of relief, taking the opportunity to ask Grey in hushed tones, “How am I doing? She is not going to disown you for loving me yet?” It was spoken playfully, though there was a strange note of uncertainty to his tone that was rarely present.

GREY WESTON
The living room they found themselves in was a modest affair; not even half the size of Kaspar and Grey’s own. Isidora had managed to utilize what floorspace the room commanded all the same, in a way that coaxed an intimate, cozy air, for all that it was sensibly minimalist. The walls were a soft shade of yellow; a shade of pastel so muted it was nearly white when illuminated by the late evening sunlight that filtered in from the large paned windows that dominated the western half of the room. It was a sunny shade; meant to mirror the bold colors of a small villa tucked into the countryside, wild roses and climbing ivy running rampant in idle slashes of vivid color, vines like looping whorls of cursive as they sought a foothold in the facade. The wall color was matched with a tasteful pairing of a creamy off-white baseboard, which ran the length of the room, before melding with the eggshell colored carpet.

Gauzy ivory curtains - the fabric thin to the point of translucence when gathered into sashes - framed the window sills. There was no coffee table. A scattered handful of end tables held place of honor, their varnish gleaming a rich, honeyed color in the slant of sunlight that graced the room, bathing the warm blonde tones of the wood in soft, incomplete bars of light and shadow. The bottom shelves gave way to glass doors, revealing a collection of books and magazines alike, carefully ordered by bookends. Some were chess pieces, carved from cherry wood and stained a mahogany so deep that the soft threads of gold that lined the elegant curve of the horse heads was nearly swallowed by the dark grain. Others were globes in miniature, rocking gently on their axis, waiting to spin with an easy touch.

The ancient wood stove from Grey’s childhood crouched in the corner of the room. A relic from the 40’s, its hulking shape was catty corner to the wall. In winter, it threw off enough heat to warm the entire lower floor. An ancient sound system bordered a small television at the center of the room, a short distance from the cream colored couch they’d settled on. A handful of framed photographs lined the walls; Grey as a toddler, arms wrapped around the sagging belly of a dalmatian Rex rabbit, whose bland expression was nothing short of long suffering. Grey, puckered lips pressed against the same rabbit’s cheek as he rested on the floor of the living room.

Moments, frozen in snapshots. Grey and his mother’s twin on a train platform, arms twined around each other, mouths both sticky red with the remnants of granita. The last one depicted the man in his high school cap and gown. There were pieces of artwork inserted between them at intervals; some clearly bearing Grey’s own signature. The tour of the home had been perfunctory; the only rooms they hadn’t visited had been the kitchen, his mother’s bedroom, and his own, to Kaspar’s obvious chagrin.

He’d grimaced at his mother’s words - hands reaching out unthinkingly to catch one of her own between them, squeezing gently. He didn’t protest when she excused herself, instead settling back against the couch with a low sigh. “You’re being very charming. No surprise there. Might get a reward for good behavior if this keeps up.” He blinked, countering Kaspar’s question with an arched brow. “She seems to like you. Cougar alert.” The words were gentle; a soft tease meant to soothe, to ease some of the quiet uncertainty in the man’s tone.

KASPAR
Kaspar let himself slouch a little more into the couch, feeling all too big in it, his limbs just that bit too long and having been too polite to sprawl out he’d arranged himself neatly and his muscles were beginning to protest. He stretched luxuriously, arm slumping over Grey’s shoulder as it finished it’s graceful arc through the air, tucking him close. Lips were brushed against forehead, a fond chuckle not far behind. “A reward?” He echoed, almost dreamily. It had been a big day, he decided that he could do with a reward, especially the kind Grey gave out when he was particularly pleased. The cougar comment couldn’t go unremarked on, Kaspar giving a low, disapproving scoff. “Grey Weston, did you just call your own mother a cougar?” He didn’t quite manage stern, he was visibly too amused for that, giving into the soft laugh that he felt bubbling up in his chest.

It was nice to be here, it felt in many ways like a big step and yet a natural one, meeting the parents, slowly but surely introducing their families and making it known that they were in fact committed to each other. Kaspar felt content, almost annoyingly so, this warm sensation in his chest that even the slight nerves that hung around couldn’t dampen. It made him feel giddy suddenly, like he wanted to swoop Grey up and spin him, or to babble his affection like an overexcited toddler. Love, he figured, it was love and pride making him feel foolish. He stole a brief kiss, his lips quirking into an earnest, enthused smile as he let himself stand, moving over to get a better look at the pictures on the wall, the artworks between. Adorable toddler Grey turning into a young man, one about to face the world and find it not so kind. Maybe someone should have warned him, that sweet faced teenager that he thought things were bad but things were going to get worse, much worse, before they got even close to better. That even with safety and happiness came sacrifice, that his world would never be picture perfect because of the choices he made, but it could be good. He could be utterly adored, he could be successful, he could have a future.

Kas turned from the photos, looking at the man he was today, looking at Grey sitting in a home that he both belonged in and yet had moved on from. Even tired from the trip he was luminous to Kaspar, he gave him hope because he made him excited for the future, made him want to enjoy the present and tell the past to take a hike. His hand extended in offering, elegant fingertips unfurling towards him and warmth in his expression. “Liebchen?”